I thought this a bizarre question: the dude is my angel and I am his mother. How odd to ask if we were "getting on".

She seemed surprised when I responded in miffed fashion that my son is an absolute darling. Does he have some sort of alternate personality around her? I wondered. What was she insinuating anyhow?

Mum went on to tell me that when my youngest brother turned four it was as if a switch had been flicked.

One day he was a cutesy chatterbox who loved to cuddle and then, boom, fourth birthday passes and he becomes such a monster that apparently mum could have quite happily put him in a box and posted him to Siberia.

"Well," says I, "my boy is so lovely that I even wrote an article recently describing his excellent table manners and beautiful behaviour in public." I heard myself say it out loud, Mum smirked at me and right then we both knew it was only a matter of time ... .

So last Saturday, unusually, my husband had the day off. My son excitedly asks Dad to come to the cafe Y Pantri in Denbigh with us. It was adorable the way my little one explained to his Dad about the rules of eating out. Tim was ordered to watch his manners and sit nicely to the table. I was so proud.

So that lunchtime we arrive at the cafe. In anticipation of his loveliness we had promised him that once his sister finished her dance class we would take them for a ride on a diesel train followed by a picnic on the beach.

My boy passes his order of one sausage, no sauce, to the waitress and also informs her of what Mum and Dad would like too but for some uncharacteristic reason, he was behaving in a silly way as he spoke.

Tim looked at me dubiously.

When his sausage arrived the nice lady had kindly given him a few crisps to go with it. Normally he would have thanked her but this time he announces loudly: "I don't want these."

I explained that the lady had been very kind and he should be grateful.

If he doesn't want them, then just don't eat them but don't be rude as he will hurt her feelings.

His response was to start flicking them across the table. I could feel my temper beginning to burn as much as my cheeks, especially because I knew that some of the fellow customers had read my previous 'how good is my son!' article.

I pointed to the security camera and reminded him that it was watching for children with bad manners. That I believe was the trigger!

If we were in a horror film it would have been that exact moment when my baby's head would start to spin 360 degrees before rolling his eyes into the back of his head and projectile-vomiting fluorescent acid puke.

"I don't care you stupid ponk, just you shut up and mind your own manners. Bog off!" he snarled, teeth bared

Tim and I sat reeled back, stunned. Where did that come from? We did not know how to react at first but we then both burst out in shocked laughter.

As it turns out, laughing at him was a big mistake! No doubt inspired by our reaction, my son stepped up his game. We had slithering under the table, kicking, refusal to eat his food and a good dose of "so what" and "whatever". I have no doubt that soon I will be treated to "Look at my face - am I bovvered?"

The novelty of this bizarre tantrum soon wore off, for Tim and me anyway. He was denied his most favourite part of the cafe visits: paying.

The look in his eyes as I paid the bill made me think of 'Chucky', that psychotic doll from Child's Play.

As we exited the cafe the little horror made a bolt for the toy shop.

Tim caught up with him just after some poor old lady had tripped over him. "Stupid Ponk," he spat.

Who is this child? Hubby threw the terror over his shoulder and started striding down the high street towards the car. As my son kicked him, screamed in his ear and tried to gouge his eyeballs, I admit I walked several paces behind. "Ah, no, woman," Tim said, "he's your kid too, you suffer this as well." He waited until I had caught up with him.

So many eyes followed us down the street and to the car park. Tim opened the car door and shoved our boy inside. Giving up on trying to strap him into his car seat he slammed the door, locking him inside.
We both stood outside, neither of us wanting to get in the car with him so we decided to let him calm down by himself. My husband and I could not stop laughing. Not because we found this funny but it was the kind of laugh you have just before the dentist switches on the drill - nervous laughter my mother calls it.

We stood outside that car for at least 20 minutes. My dude never even turned around to look for us instead he just sat kicking the dashboard.

His mood wore off after another hour or so and I have not seen or heard from the demon that possessed my child since. On the drive to the train station later that day, from out of nowhere his little voice mumbled: "I'm so sorry I was grumpy, Mummy, I don't like being grumpy, are you cross with me?"

He was so contrite and had obviously been pondering his behaviour despite the fact that we did not remonstrate with him about it. No, I was not cross but I was a bit freaked out.

My Mother simply smirked when I reluctantly told her about it. Mothers have always seen it all, haven't they?